


Obedience

by dance4thedead



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Addiction, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, M/M, Non-Chronological, Pain, Poor Sebastian, Post Campania, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/dance4thedead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone harbors loyalties: William to the Dispatch, Sebastian to his young master, and Ciel to Her Majesty. However, when Sebastian is unable to recover from his injuries, their devotion to their respective superiors is put to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Game Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Haunted Castle episode in the first season anime and immediately after the Ship Voyage Arc (the sinking of the Campania) in the manga. 
> 
> This work does not progress in chronological order. Instead, the story is told in pairs (and occasionally triplets) of short, non-sequential scenes.
> 
> As a reference, the verb tense of the scene can help distinguish its point in time. Scenes that contain actions that occur in "real time" are written in a present tense. Scenes in which the action has already occurred are written in a past tense.

With a swoop of his hand, the young earl backed his bishop down three spaces on the diagonal. Check.

"Sebastian, it is possible to for you to die, correct?" Ciel asked, breaking study's stilted ambiance. His voice was, as always, level and calculated. It failed to admit the slightest hint of anticipation for the butler's response.

"It is the nature of every living creature to die." The involuntary hitch in the the boy's throat pleased the demon greatly. _Including yours._ Sebastian continued, "Young master, is something the matter? You aren't suddenly concerned for my well being, are you?”

“Quite the opposite.” Another pawn was knocked off the board. “I would, however, like to know how you intend to uphold your end of the contract should you perish.”

Sebastian smirked. Ciel wouldn't push him to answer that line of questioning. He removed the empty desert plate and tea cup from the desk with a flourish. “You aren't the least bit curious of a demon's weaknesses?”

Check again. King and queen fork. Pity.

“No? How very unlike yourself.”

“Unlike me that I don't find it necessary to hold your mortality against you? I have no need to further manipulate you.” He traced the place where his eye patch met skin with the tip of his finger, knowing it would drive Sebastian crazy. _I own you._

Ciel looked up from his game to Sebastian for the first time since breakfast. “Besides, by remaining ignorant, I can continue to ask impossible things of you with no consequence to myself.”

His knight captured his queen.

“Sebastian, do you know the true tragedy behind playing against oneself?"

The tea trolley stopped at the door. _That you have no friends._ “I'm afraid not, sir.”

“It's that even in victory, one can never entirely crush one's opponent.”

“I do suppose that's one way of looking at the glass.”

“What even are you going on about? I never said anything about a glass! And where do you think you're going?”

“Master, I do have other responsibilities to attend to besides monitoring your playtime …” he paused for a rebuttal. Ciel refused to be baited, holding back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Sebastian continued, “… including diner preparations.” _And supervising those three._

“Sit.”

The command ignited the familiar burn on back of his clothed hand. “Yes, my lord.” With a sigh, Sebastian slid the cart back into the room and settled into the seat opposite him. Ciel began to reset the pieces.

“Young master, if I may—”

“No.” The boy rotated the chessboard to assign the players their armies. “Your move.”

_He wants me to play white? How very interesting …_

* * *

The last frame of Sebastian's cinematic record stops abruptly. The butt of a pole arm coils the jumble of film tendrils that spill out from the his body and jams them discourteously back into his bare chest. Rough hands take hold of him, pulling his shredded flesh into place and suturing it together.

It takes a moment for the pain of his body to reach his brain. It's the most intense sensation he has ever felt, and for the first time in his long existence, Sebastian wishes for death to take him. The contract seal screams for his attention, crushing his mind and sending fire through his veins from his hand. He's naked and uncharacteristically vulnerable. He can't breathe … he can't breathe and he needs to return to his young master. The agony will be over if he could reach his master.

_I … I ca- I can't. N- no … m- my lord._

He has to say it out loud. He would take the punishment after, but he has to reject the young master's order.

It is too late. Sebastian is beyond words, whimpering and moaning, lost in the pain. An animalistic instinct takes him over. His teeth gnash together; his fangs pierce into the inside of his lip. Saliva and phlegm run down his jaw and puddle on his neck. His human form begins to fall away, too weak to keep it. The fresh stitches rip through his skin, reopening the wounds the bizarre dolls and Undertaker carved into him.

_Stop, stop … p- please. Ju- just please let it be … let it be over. Let me be over._

He hasn't more blood left in his body to bleed. The contract has a grip on to him, forcing his life to continue. To endure until it all until his master releases him. It's the only thing keeping him alive.

Sebastian's cinematic record shoots out of his chest seconds before his wings erupt from his back with a small explosion of fluid soaked feathers. His torso had still been too humanoid for the appendages to unfurl properly and had torn through delicate human tissue. The wings drop to the sides of the operating table, gracelessly, as his cinematic record drags his conscience into another memory.

Spears' death scythe cuts through the air a second time to return the demon's essence to his body.

“Again. You did it correctly. Now do it efficiently.” William doesn't even try to mask the irritation in his voice. The four subordinate reapers scramble to restitch and bandage the parting gift Undertaker left on the body of the dying demon. “If I'm forced to touch my scythe to that wretched creature a third time, I will guarantee each of you a month of overtime.” 


	2. There Goes the Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter takes place chronologically before the Chapter 1. Also, a reminder that in this work, the past is written in a past tense and the present is written in a present tense.

Ciel doesn't want to leave his bed; it's the first decent sleep he's had since being pulled out from the freezing water a week ago. He buries his head into a pillow.

“My apologies, sir, but as unwell as you may be feeling, I cannot allow you to remain in bed all day.”

Ciel sits up, the familiar voice startling him. He snatches the eye patch from his bedside table and hastily holds it over his eye.

The butler continues, “Several matters have come to surface in your absence, as well as while you were resting. In addition, I have for you a letter from her Majesty. One of the Charles delivered it after you had retired for the night.” He fastens the strings into a neat bow at the back of the boy's head.

“Tanaka,” Ciel whispers, forcing down the bile he feels rising into his throat. “Where is Sebastian?”

The old man turns down the bed and passes his charge a cup of tea. His intention is clear and Ciel knows there's no use fighting him (were he Sebastian, the situation would have been completely different.) Ciel obediently drains the drink, scowling slightly that it isn't as sweet as when the demon makes it. Tanaka hands him the sealed envelope and returns the empty cup to the trolley.

The Queen could wait. “Tanaka, where is he?”

Tanaka begins to dress him. “I have given orders to the other servants to thoroughly search the entire estate for Mr. Michaelis—”

“He's gone, isn't he?”

The butler's hands pause at the last shirt button. “Yes, my lord.”

Ciel reaches down to fasten the button himself. “Thank you for all you've done, Tanaka. Please see to it that the rest of the Manor is taken care of. I wish to be alone.”

“I would advise against that, sir. It appears that Mr. Michaelis was removed from the servants quarters last night by force. It is best to say close to the members of your staff for the time being, in case the same intruders seek to target you.”

“You needn't worry about me. I intend to be sought out.” He draws his gun out from beneath his pillow; his face flush with anger. “By invading my home and making moves against me, they have insulted my family's name. Moreover, they have insulted me; and I will not stand for it!”

In his mind flashes his demon's face. He recalls every order he made that night, leaving Sebastian too drained to defend himself. Hot shame wells in his eyes. It's not that he cares for Sebastian; caring would imply that at least one of them was capable of such emotion. It's that young man had deluded himself into thinking that, with his cunning and Sebastian's strength, he would never be taken advantage of again. And he had

But he won't be beaten so easily. He stands and looks the butler of his late father dead in the eyes. “If I couldn't at least find and punish those who dare take what's rightfully mine, what kind of Phantomhive would I be?”

He burst out of his bedroom, and breezes down the corridor. He runs down the grand staircase, gun still in hand. Asthma could come and kill him some other time; not today. He throws open the front door, not caring that Mey-Rin and Snake have stopped working to gawk at him. He stops on the front lawn, tears off his eye patch, and yells at the top of his lunges:

“SEBASTIAN! THIS IS AN ORDER! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU RAT BASTARD!”

* * *

Sebastian had been in the kitchen, preparing for the London Curry Contest. His mind welcomed the challenge to create a dish to Prince Soma's liking (the human palate, what an abstract concept!). The spices gave off a strong, pleasantly sharp scent, and the heat from the overworked stove was quite nice. He was … happy?

The memory is cut short and the demon slips out of his brief moment of lucidity.

The pain returns faster than the first time he regained consciousness. The contract flares up on his hand and resumes its torture. His voice is gone; his mouth hangs open to emit silent screams. His wings are excruciatingly numb and heavy.

The reapers are patching the even larger wound on his back, sliding the jagged edges together where they can and packing the gaping hole with layers upon layers of gauze where they couldn't. Their cautious fingers can't avoid every injury; even places he wasn't bitten, clawed, or impaled, sported bruises that went down to the bone. Each touch causes new agony to wrack through the demon.

“Mr. Spears, he's suffered enough. This is unethical,” one of the younger reapers blurts out.

“It's a demon. Conventional ethics do not apply.”

The reaper meets William's cold green eyes. “Are we any better than he, then?”

All sense of pride and dignity done away with, Sebastian desperately mouths one word to William: mercy.

The drug they push into him works fast. It spreads through his system and numbs the physical pain. The fire from the contract persists, and that alone is enough to keep the demon contorting in agony.

Their jobs complete, the reapers filter out of the room, until only William remains. He stands beside Sebastian's convulsing body. The dispatch officer pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with his death scythe.

To be entirely honest, seeing the demon's withering, pathetic form did give him a type of grim satisfaction. It's the only thing William finds marginally enjoyable about this assignment. He presses something cool and smooth to the demon's lips. “Eat.”


	3. Double Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that a past tense indicates that the action is not happening in "real time."

Sebastian nearly dies of internal laughter. The world has truly gone insane.

_What are … y_ _-_ _you playing at, Sp_ _-_ _sp_ _ears?_

“The Department is being audited for … mishandling the Campania incident. We require from you an oral statement as an unbiased, _honest_ , third party. Meaning we need you to be able to speak.” William huffs. “Eat, demon, before I feed you something much lower on the food chain.”

Sebastian parts his lips to allow the reaper to shove the fist size ball of energy into his mouth. The soul slides easily down the back of his throat and is absorbed into his being. It is without taste, almost offensively so, and provides little sustenance.

_A deer. You fed me a deer._

“You'll take what I give you and you'll be grateful. Can you speak yet?”

Sebastian visibly struggles, but produces nothing more audible than a hiss of air. William sets another soul against his lip. It's warmer, rounder. Sebastian takes it into his body.

He recoils almost instantly. The thing in him is oily, and its flavor is that of soil combined with mold. William's gloved hand clamps over the demon's mouth.

“Keep it down, Michaelis. That's it. Now can you talk?”

When Sebastian fails to respond, without a warning, William slips a third soul into the butler. Sebastian groans as it sinks into him.

_This won't work, Spears. There is a reason my kind pr- preys on … on humans ex- exclusively._

The animal souls did help, to some extent. A small extent, comparable to putting a droplet of water on a Phantomhive family bonfire.

“If this fails to make a difference, the Council will simply wait for your body to repair itself naturally. We all are immortal, after all."

_There is a faster way for us to all get what we need. You just … need to fi- figure it out, … reaper._

He tries to force air over his useless vocal cords. He gasps, the extra effort forces him to suffer another round of contractions. Teeth grind together and eyes close, Sebastian fights to remember anything other than this place, the contract, and the hole in his chest.

_Hu- hurry up and use yo- your brain, Sp- … ears._

“Of course, I've been made aware that your contract continues to punish you until you properly reject your order. It matters little to me should that come to pass later, rather than sooner.”

_I- I ca- can't talk. I- I can bar-ely think. Wil- … William please. You said be- before I'm noth- nothing more than a d- dog on a leash. You don't … you don't tru- trust me, you don't … you don't ha- have to trust … but I need you to cu- cu- cut my le- leash … left han- hand … or ha- have my Master …_

The demon stops breathing.

* * *

Ciel's eyes began to close.

_This is all too much. This can't happen to me again. Not like this. My body … my hair is … freezing up. I can't … I just … sleepy …_

“Young master! You mustn't allow yourself to sleep!”

_Sebastian is calling. He's pleading. My knight is injured, and I'm ready to fold. This is where I die … completely and utterly alone. When ever have I not been alone?_

A gloved hand smacked across Ciel's face. The world around the earl sharpened with renewed clarity. He was on a life boat; his butler in the water beside him. The Campania sunk. Undertaker got away and …

“You are not to hit me again, Sebastian! I'm awake, you daft twit!”

The hand lowed mid-strike. He could tell his demon was grinning even in the dark.

“I merely wished to confirm that for myself. For you to freeze to death after we've come this far together, well, that would be most inconven— agh!” Sebastian broke into a strangled scream as the mouth of a bizarre dolls clamped down hard on to his ankle. He kicked the thing off of him, feeling a portion of his flesh leave with it.

The effect of the bite was dramatic. At a later time, Sebastian would recognize that the doll was, same as he, a member of a parasitic species. Had the realization occurred to Sebastian an instant before, he would have braced himself for what would happen. His body lurched forward in agony, the sensation he had was about that of splatting on the ground after falling a very far distance. The small amount of the energy that remained in his body, the reserve of souls he had consumed over the years, was leaking out of the new injury. He gasped; he would be dead by sunrise.

A shout from his young master broke through his terror. “They can move in the water!?”

“I- It isn't ne- necessary for them to breathe,” his flawless composer officially destroyed. “I suppose it wouldn't be possible for them to drown either.” He blinked blood out from his eyes. He couldn't afford another hit like that; the first thing to go would be his—

“Then …”

“Shh! Quiet!”

_He's afraid. My butler, afraid?_

Dead limbs pushed their way though the water. The quiet splashes multiplied and drew nearer.

“No … No way … this is …” Ciel whispered; his breath clung to the air.

_The dolls. They're everywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the speech patterns of the English manga translation and the English anime dub are different, I altered the dialogue to keep the voices consistent.


	4. Breaking the Rules

William sighs and lifts another soul out of a metal briefcase on the floor. The light it gives off is splotchy and yellowing, nothing like the cool, pure human souls the Dispatch Department processes.

It's not like Dispatch officers have a reason to collect dead horses, at least not under normal circumstances. He shudders, knowing what he needs to do next.

He may never admit it, but he is grateful the demon passed out. Only so much pain can be wished upon enemies before it's now longer enjoyable. Although he probably ought to be more concerned about how long demons can go without breathing than he is at the moment.

With his free hand, he finds his phone and flips it open. He pins the device to his ear with his shoulder. The moment the line stops ringing, William begins speaking immediately to minimize the number of words he has to hear from the the obnoxious redhead.

“Sutcliff, you and Mr. Knox are going back into the field. As the subject is currently incapacitated, your task is to—”

“BY SUBJECT YOU DOOOOO MEAN MY BASSY right, William? You have him all tied up and ready for me like a birthday present, don't you? Why don't I just come over there and KISS HIM ALL BETTER for you dear? _Hmmmmmm_?” 

William tries to ignore the sound of wet, squishy lips being pressed against the receiver. “Grell,” William hisses. He puts his hand on the demon's jaw and pries its mouth open. He cringes when its limp tongue flops out.

“Oh, you know WHAT THEY SAAAAAYYYYYYY: a KISS from a pretty young LADY does WONDERS for a handsome, devilish—” 

“GRELL!” William thrusts the soul down Sebastian's throat with a bit more force than he intended. It starts to breathe again. “You and Knox get to the Phantomhive Manor and have the child rescind the summon for his _dog_ ; it's no good to me in this condition. Do whatever he wants in return. I need this assignment finished as quickly as possible.”

“OKAAYYY Will, whatever you—” 

Click. His phone slips back into the pocket of his pants. William straightens his and suit and glasses. He gives the demon another disdainful glance. Now, he must wait.

* * *

It takes Sebastian a moment to recall where he is. Fatigue has spread from the his body to his mind, yet it hasn't managed to take the edge off the feeling that something is inexplicably out of place. Nor did it dull the sensation that his veins have been pumping acid through his system.

He was struggling to tread water in the cold, open ocean. His gloved hands were clinging to the gunwale of the life boat he placed young master in. His lungs were shifting his broken ribs, making his breathing erratic. His life force was ebbing away …

Sebastian's irritation peaks. He already has done this dance with his master; he does not desire an encore. Neither he nor the earl is at sea. The Campania had sunk over a week ago and they have since returned to the Manor. He is in the Shinigami Realm, lying naked and unconscious on an operating table. William T. Spears is with him, trying to save his life.

No, none of that can be real. Ciel is most definitely in the boat floating beside him. He can practically smell the exhaustion and adrenaline running through the boy. Besides, Spears ever helping him is absolute ludicrous. Self-righteous bureaucrats do not play physician on half dead demons. The contemptuous reaper force feeding him must be … a hallucination? A side effect of the bizarre doll's bite? Undertaker's scythe? He does feel dreadfully strange.

“Sebastian, GET IN!!” Ciel screamed, snapping Sebastian out of his trance. His master's order sent vitality through his body, enough for Sebastian to grab on to the offered hand and pull himself into the boat. The movement cost him dearly; his strength was just about tapped out. Blood was soaking through his shirt and vest. Soon he would have to channel or absorb power from somewhere else …

The dolls reached over the lip of the life boat with their dead hands. The raft lurched, threatening to capsize under the stress of the new bodies.

A hiss of pain escaped Sebastian as his weight momentarily shifted to his injured leg to snatch one of the long wooden paddles from beneath the life boat benches. He swung the oar into the chests of the creatures, driving them back.

A doll launched itself out of the water and latched on to Ciel. On instinct, Sebastian stuck out his leg and kicked the thing clear out of the boat. Just like he did that night. Exactly like he did that night. This is a memory.

Sebastian shudders. That confirms two things. First, not only is he watching his cinematic record; he's reliving it. He knows this tale; he fights off the bizarre dolls and the next morning they are rescued. At this moment, his young master is safe at home, carefully guarded by Tanaka and the others.

Secondly, he's dying. And going mad as well. There is no line to distinguish memory from reality. Illusion from truth. He hears himself yelling to Ciel between blows, struggling not to collapse on to the floor of the boat. He can't continue on through his strength of will alone. He calls to Ciel, begging his young charge to give him an order …

 _“You're in pain.”_ It was a woman's voice: low, decadent, and familiar. She sounds clear, as if she were standing right behind him. _“I can help you with that, if only for a little while."_

The cinematic record warps around Sebastian. Ciel is torn from him and is whisked away into nothingness, along with the boat, the ocean, and the bizarre dolls. Sebastian falls to his knees on the dirt floor of a circus tent. 

..........

The pain is entirely gone for the first time in a long time. The bottom of a prosthetic foot presses down on Sebastian's shoulder, wrinkling his pristine butler attire.

He hears her chuckle. The tip of her toe moves to his sternum, then straight over his throat at a frustratingly slow pace. With a gentle flick, she kicks his jaw up so his eyes meet her own.

“Betty got your tongue?” Beast whispers. The former first-string member of the Noah's Ark Circus rests her leg on the inside of his thigh as she slips the sand colored scarf from her neck. She drapes it on him.

In one fluid motion, she has Sebastian flat on his back. The sole of her prosthetic is drilling into the demon's solar plexus. Beast grips the scarf tight around his neck with one hand. The other hand holds her whip.

“Impressive,” Sebastian smirks.

She responds by pulling his leash taut until he starts gasping for breath. Beast holds him there for a moment, before giving him some slack.

“Considering the … multitude of intriguing characters I've … encountered in my lifetime, I never would guessed my … conscience would manifest as you,” he manages to pant out.

She drags the leather tail of the whip over his face. “I'm a surprise to you? I was the last one you had, wasn't I? You were obviously mine. Doesn't that make us something special?”

Sebastian stares at her. She frowns, “I can barely say that with a straight face. I'm in your head for a reason, jackass.” She tosses aside her scarf and whip. Her fingers start to undoing the demon's shirt buttons. “You need me.”

Sebastian flips over, pining Beast to the ground with his body. His teeth pull the glove off his right hand, casting it aside. He reaches his bare fingers to the dark brown  curl of hair covering the woman's ear and tucks it back behind her headband. He lowers his face to speak softly into the her neck.“Madame, I assure you. I am not in need of your services.”

“Agh! Shut up already.” She frees her hand and applies pressure to the his bare chest, right over where Undertaker's blade cut through him. The pain returns briefly, hitting Sebastian like an avalanche (which, by the way, he _has_ experienced) before subsiding. Beast kicks him across the room with her good leg, causing him to crash into her makeup table.

“You've been broken, in more than one way. And you need me to help you come to terms with that.”

“I do not require your help,” Sebastian spits out.

“I'm dead. You're stuck with me.”

The end of the whip gives his clavicle a sharp lick. She stands over him, recoiling the instrument. The cut is shallow, but it bleeds profusely.

“If you don't need me, heal yourself. A little scratch shouldn't be that difficult for a man like you.”

The blood rolls down his torso. Heat builds beneath the injury, burning to stitch itself together. Sebastian grunts, willing it to work. It's causing more pain than the cut itself. He gives it one final push before he gives up, depleted and humiliated. He growls deep in his throat. “I am unable.”

“You're punishing yourself. You've displeased your master.” She grabs his chin. “Should your insubordination continue, and your contract becomes no longer an effective way to bind you to his will, we'll need to find new ways to keep you disciplined. Your current method of coping benefits no one.”

The cinematic record warps around them again. The tent walls fade, and he can make out William T. Spears' face standing over him, speaking into a small contraption.

“Looks like we're out of time. I'll be seeing you again soon, _Sebastian_.” Beast plants a chaste kiss on his cheek before she blinks out off existence.

The taste of animal's soul hits the back of his throat. Sebastian gasps for breath as reality and the usual surge of agony rush to meet him.


	5. A New Game, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, present tense (with past perfect tense when necessary) for real time, and past tense for flash backs and memories.

“ _ **Sit.**_ ”

Sebastian turned from his place at the door to face the earl. Ciel was at his desk, eye patch balled up in that beautiful pale hand of his. The contract blazed in the noble's eye.

“Yes, my lord.”

The cart was pushed back into the study and left abandoned as Sebastian placed himself into the seat opposite his master. Ciel reset the pieces.

“Young master, if I may—”

“No. Your move.” Ciel looked up at Sebastian, both eyes gleaming.

_He wants me to play white? How very interesting …_

“My lord, for you play a person beneath your station, such as myself, … well that would be simply inappropriate. If you wish, I can arrange another appointment for you with Lady Elizab—”

“No.” _Don't you dare._ “That won't be necessary. But wouldn't a proper tutor indulge his pupil with a game of strategy when asked?”

Sebastian solemnly crossed a gloved hand over his heart. “It would be an honor.” His long fingers grazed the the head of a white pawn.

“Sebastian, you're not to go easy on me.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” The pawn was pushed forward two spaces.

The black knight jumped out from behind the infantry line. “Is that so, demon?”

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. “As you can see,” he gripped the armrests of his chair and made a good show of trying to stand. The wooden joints squeaked in protest. “I do only as you ask.” He collapsed back into the seat, contract still warm on the back of his hand.

Ciel made his move, never breaking eye contact with the demon. “Since when do you do what I ask and not some twisted perversion of it?”

“The nature of your orders do, on occasion, warrant creative license.” He punctuated his sentence by setting his bishop down with a soft felt-muffled thump. “If I couldn't at least anticipate your needs and react accordingly, what kind of butler would I—”

“ _Hogwash_.” Sebastian's pawn was kicked off the board.

“Is something bothering you, my lord? A particular instance my performance did not meet your expectations?”

“Yes.” The temperature in the room dropped five degrees. “Are you going to move, or are you going to glare me to death?”

“If I may speak freely, I'd prefer you'd release me so I can see to my other responsibilities.” His voice was overly crisp; Ciel knew he was seething.

“The Campania departs on the seventeenth. Considering your _improvisations_ on the last two investigations for Her Majesty, I want to know for sure where your priorities lie before I put myself on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic with you and Lizzy. That's not unreasonable, is it?”

A breath hissed across the fangs Sebastian was struggling to retract. “No, sir.”

“Then answer me this, and I'll release you.” Ciel lowered his voice and met Sebastian's blood red eyes without hesitation. “How hungry are you?”

“You needn't ask me that. I am, as always, your loyal servant.” His hands were scrunching the fabric of his trousers.

“I want my goals to be just as clear to you. I want my revenge, and I don't care whose life it will cost for me to obtain it. That includes your life and mine.” His eyelashes fluttered as he briefly closed his eyes. “I caught you smelling the back of Finny's neck a week ago. You seemed _desperate_.”

“Ah yes, being buried alive does that to a person.”

He was sweating. Ciel didn't know the demon could sweat. “Yesterday you lingered a bit too long by Bard and Snake. Care to explain?”

“ **My appetite will not compromise my obedience**. Our contract insures that much.” Never in their time together had Sebastian spoken with such conviction.

The earl sighed like he was six times his age. “Fine. You're free to go.” _I know you're hiding things from me, demon._

Sebastian sprung out of the chair that had held him captive. “How kind of you.” He smiled as he took his king and gently laid it on its side. “Well played, my lord.” _Of course I'm hiding things from you._

He scooped up the small piece of fabric and fastened the black silk cords to the back of Ciel's head with a perfect bow. _Do you want to know how I really feel?_

Sebastian had the the tea cart halfway out the door by the time Ciel had his gun in his hand, aimed straight at the ceiling, elbow propped on his desk. The way the young lord too often did when lost in deep thought.

_I'm ravenous._

* * *

The morning of Sebastian's disappearance finishes with remarkably fewer disasters than Ciel anticipated. Granted, two saucers, a couple of rose bushes, and a ham had to be laid to the rest, but the staff manages to more or less perform their duties without the butler's supervision.

Following his outburst on the front lawn, Tanaka orders Finny to subdue the earl and bring him back into the Manor. It takes a super powered gardener, a baritsu master, and a chain smoker to drag the kicking and screaming noble into the study.

Tanaka leaves the letter from Her Majesty with Ciel, and after a short apology for his rough treatment of the young man (no butler in his right mind could stand by his master making as fool of himself), he hurries off to show Bard the spare room the chef is to be staying in while his room is being cleaned.

To himself, Ciel admits his actions had been childish, and makes a resolution that he shall not allow himself to appear shaken in any way by the current circumstances. Undertaker's attacks on the Campania had taken a toll on the demon, but the he reckons Sebastian should be just about recovered after roughly five nights of rest aboard the rescue ship, and is most likely fighting his way from his abductors at this very moment.

If the royal seal isn't enough of a sign of the letter's authenticity, the faint smell of tobacco and arrogance from one of the white Charles is. He takes the heirloom silver opener and slides it easily through the vellum—Sebastian likes a good edge to be kept on every blade in the house. The earl recognizes the queen's perfect script immediately.

My dear Watchdog,  
  
There is talk of coated lead pieces being passed off as silver coinage in the lower courts. I suspect the circulation of counterfeit begins in criminal underground, and may be associated with a number of disappearances in the red light district.

Please investigate further,  
—V   

Ciel sighs to himself for the millionth time that morning. Even compelled by an order, Sebastian hasn't returned, and the earl's duty to the crown cannot be delayed further. Not without shedding doubt on the absolute authority of the house of Phantomhive. The demon will have hell to pay for forcing him to resort to less elegant measures.

...........

“Damn it Lau! Get these disgusting females off of me!” Ciel reaches out to push one of the girls away, only to find that he has made contact with a part of the woman's body that makes blood rush to his cheeks. The girl giggles as she holds the earl's small palm in place. Snake is three feet away, receiving the same warm welcome as his master, and is impossibly more at a loss of words than usual.

“Oh Earl, that's no way to treat my sisters.” The criminal lifts the pipe to Ran-Mao lips, who is currently straddling the man. “Girls, the Earl Phantomhive and I would like a private moment.”

The ladies whine as they slither off the boys, one hastily planting a trail of kisses on the noble's neck. Ciel nearly dies.

“How was your trip at sea? What I've heard was quite tragic, yet I haven't had the opportunity to speak with a primary source until now.”

Ciel straightens, and musters all the intimidation he can, knowing that in a fight, Lau's current company could pound him into pie filling.

“I'm not here to gossip around. If you want to know, read yourself a paper. The tabloids are chock full of that dramatic nonsense.”

Lau smiles. “So then why have you ventured into my humble home? If my sisters aren't to you're liking, I do have other ways of bringing you pleasure.” He exhales a stream of thick smoke.

Ciel coughs, sick of the opium and the criminal's laid back attitude. “Sebastian, my butler. Have you heard anything of his whereabouts?”

“Not a single word.”

The pit in Ciel's stomach returns. Something is extremely wrong with the demon.

Lau continues, “I suggest you keep the people you care about closer to you. That's what I do to keep my family safe. Isn't that right, Ran-Mao?” He rolls his hips, raising the body guard higher up on his lap.

The earl swallows his revulsion. “What about counterfeiting? You haven't decided to expand your business, have you?”

“Why would I? Bad money makes for bad business. And besides, inflation harms those I morally have qualms about taking advantage of.”

“Of all people, Lau? You? Morals?”

Ran-Mao is up and moving, her weapon of choice ready to simultaneously strike the side of both the earl's head and Snake's. A bullet pierces the pink rose pleated into her hair from across the street as a warning, sending petals drifting to the floor. She doesn't even flinch.

“Yes, Earl. There are groups of people even despicable individuals such as myself are protective of. That we would never think to harm. The old. The mentally ill …”

His eyes open to reveal a cold fire burring within him. “ _And children_.”

Lau ignores the pair snakes that are twining around his wrists—Oscar and Wilde. Ciel's counterattacks, if it can be called that, aren't worth his attention. “You see Earl, following the night Ran-Mao and I spent at your Manor, a little birdie told me of your method of dealing with _leftovers_ at the Kelvin Estate.”

He searches Ciel's face for a drop of remorse and finds none. “If you gather nothing else of the workings of the criminal underworld, know this: **we care for our own**.”

“What do you want,” Ciel spits out, trying not imagine the club-like weapon splattering brain matter on to the carpet, “an apology?”

“No, Earl. That's not what I want. I don't want to hurt you, nor do I wish to impede your investigation, either. Her Majesty's best interest happen to align with mine for the time being. However, I cannot so easily forgive you.”

He smiles and Ran-Mao lowers her weapons in favor of returning to Lau and wrapping her arms across his chest. “I'll probably come around in a week. Maybe two, just to be safe.”

Ciel breathes deeply, wishing even more for Sebastian to be with him. “Snake, gather your friends. We're picking up Mey-Rin and returning to the Manor.” He stops at the threshold and turns back to face the man.

“Not all criminals share your morals, Lau. And not all children have criminals to protect them. That much I do know. That is why I cannot regret what I've done.”

The earl strides out of the wretched hole of an establishment. _It's funny Sebastian. Were you here, you wouldn't have been able to tell whether or not I had been lying._

  
  
  
  
_Because not even I know the difference anymore._  
  
  
  



	6. Best Laid Schemes

Ciel's encounter with the Chinese informant had left him even more rattled, and he knows aimlessly pursuing leads on the False Silver case would be futile. Of all people, Lau had managed to get under his skin. That much had sprinkled salt on his already butchered pride. He cannot afford to be that vulnerable, with or without a demon at his disposal. If he cannot be independent, he will not survive to see his goals realized.

It isn't only him who is on edge. Across from him, Mey-Rin is occupying the space in the carriage cab reserved for Sebastian alone. The maid has a pistol in each practiced hand and a rifle her side. Her glasses rest on the crown of her bonnet—they have been there since morning—and her naked eyes are diligently scanning their surroundings. Today had been second time in her life she had been outmatched in a fight, and it hadn't been sitting well with her.

The brooding of the unusual pair is interrupted by the jolt of the stagecoach's wheels coming to rest in a final groove of the Manor's drive. Snake's boots hit cobblestone with a puff of dirt as he jumps down from the driver's bench. A pale hand reaches for the handle of the cab to let out the earl and his maid. At once, all of Snake's friends release a unified hiss. The sound could chill bone into fragments; it's that terrifying.

Mey-Rin bursts out from the vehicle, the hem of her skirts swirling around her ankles. Her gaze following the footman's indicating finger. A gasp leaves her mouth.

“What is it?” Ciel demands, emerging from the carriage, his gun drawn.

His servants are too stunned to answer, but a response is not needed. A window to the left of the Manor's main doors is shattered inward. The grille is broken, and the opening the glass large enough to admit a grown person. On the lawn beneath is a familiar straw hat, red with blood. Ciel swallows.

“Master Ciel, sir. Please get back in the carriage.” Mey-Rin's voice is dead serious.

“No. I'm going in.”

“It's a trap—says Emily!”

“Then DON'T COME WITH ME!” His feet start to take him up the front steps.

“Wait! Master!”

“Mey-Rin get OUT OF MY WAY!”

“ **NO**.”

Her knees are trembling, but her hazel eyes and voice have a deathly calm.

“Mister Sebastian would be very angry if you went in alone.” She readies her twin pistols. “Stay behind me.”

* * *

“Come at me again you two, and I'll blow us all sky high!” Baldroy pants, his uniform sticking to his skin. He had been in the kitchen when he heard heard the commotion, and had been the last staff member to enter the fray.

Sweat drips into Bard's eyes. He never shies away from a good fight, but the present enemy had him and his companions beat. The lit matchbook nips at his fingers, but he endures it. At the moment, it is the only thing keeping the three of them—himself, Finny, and Tanaka—alive.

A brown boot kicks open the dining room doors, and Bard's heart breaks. It would have been best for reinforcement not to show up. Even with help they will not be able to defeat these two; they're monsters. This is the ex-soldier's worst nightmare: his friends walking into an ambush.

A blur of navy blue and white fabric races across the space, sending bullets flying into the intruders with devastating accuracy. The maid crashes to the floor shoulder first, ammunition spent. The redhead intruder grins at her like a manic, neither reaper affected by the bold attack.

“Mey, get out of here!” Bard growls. The chef is seconds from being forced to shake out the flaming matchbook. A pile of black grit is at his feet, covering the nearby area. It is not enough gunpowder to do major damage to anyone but himself, but it seems these freaks (no offense Finny and Snake) don't know that.

“FINNY!” Mey-Rin cries after stealing a glance back to the gardener, who is on the carpet fighting to stay conscious. The ends of the his golden hair are stained crimson from a gash that runs from his temple, down the side of his face, all the way to his throat. Tanaka is already out, his back is slumped against the opposite set of doors like he's more rag doll than human.

The air stills as commanding presence enters. “That's enough, Bard. Put that thing out before you get us all killed.” Ciel tone is steady, and Bard obeys with a sharp exhale. The chef glares at the intruders as Snake rushes to help Mey-Rin care for Finny.

Ciel steps out in front of his servants, his stubborn chin pointing outward. “Grell. Knox. What is the meaning of this? EXPLAIN!”

“Well … my dear William **—** ,” the redhead says with a twirl.

A round nearly hits Grell in the face and buries itself into the far wall. Ciel lowers his smoking gun, barely containing his fury.

“OH HOW RUDE!! That's no way to TREAT A WOMAN I'd have you know!”

“Yeah, you know, kido, most people start with the asking questions part first. Jeez you have a sadistic streak.” Ronald runs his fingers through his hair.

“There aren't any souls lying about for you to collect, and you don't have with you those garish weapons of yours. There is only one purpose you can possibly have for being here. So I ask you this, Grell Sutcliff and Ronald Knox …”

Ciel's voice drops to a threatening register not even he knew he possessed, and for a moment the reapers forget their ability to crush the young man and his servants even without their death scythes.

_**“** **What have you done with my butler?”** _

 

* * *

 

Sebastian wakes to the taste of glue in his mouth and the sight of an annoyed William hovering over him. He's in a different space, a bedroom void of personality and anything less essential than a mattress, nightstand, stool, and four white walls. A door is open to a partial view of a bathroom and a strange box watches him from the ceiling. The demon breathes deeply, discovering he can move his body—albeit stiffly and slowly to avoid cracking open the wound on his torso.

The scowl of absolute loathing on the William's face isn't only there because of the blood, sweat, and bile plastered over the flesh and feathers of the nude demon. William actually considers taking off his glasses so he does not have to look at him with more clarity that necessary. He presses the base of his death scythe on the Sebastian's shoulder to keep him from trying to leave the bed.

“Your contract isn't punishing you because your summon was nullified. An agreement has been reached between your master and the Department. Your current predicament has been explained to him, more or less.”

Sebastian turns his head to cough out old vomit and congealed blood on to the pillow. He glares at the reaper.

 _Now I do recall you telling me that your kind—_ _so high and mighty—would never enter into a deal with a creature such as—_

“Apparently the Department heads prefer the capture of a rogue reaper to the elimination of barrel slime such as yourself.”

Sebastian weakly grabs at the death scythe, sliding it off of his skin.

_Do you enjoy calling me dirty names?_

“You'll learn of the terms of our arrangement soon enough. The hearing is tomorrow.” William drops a packet of clothing on the demon's chest.

Trousers. Dress shirt. Waistcoat. Tie. Belt. Socks. Shoes. Fresh gloves. Undergarments—Sebastian's own from his wardrobe at the Manor.

_Grell's contribution, I presume._

“Do not bleed out when you put these on.”

A ruffle of feathers. The demon's wings recede into his flesh. In a flash, the butler is on his feet, clothed impeccably in his standard uniform--minus the tailcoat. He glances to William, a bit smug as he tugs a glove into place.

Sebastian lets out a sharp gasp as his knees fall inward and his feet give out. His backside hits the floor with enough force to shatter human bones.

William can't help smirking as he heads for the door, leaving the demon collapsed on the ground.

_Wait … wait Spears._

“S-spears,” Sebastian croaks out through his raw throat. “Why?”

The smirk leaves Will's face. “It was my assignment. Don't think too much into it, demon.”

From his place on the floor, the butler lets out a breathy laugh. “What a stellar work ethic you must have."

"Indeed. I continued to do my job even though certain details disagreed with me, whereas you diligently served you master by bleeding on a table for the last twelve hours." William pauses to clear his throat. "Don't think for a second you've compromised my morals."

"Is that so? Even for a company man … the thought of getting rid of me for good … that must have crossed your mind at least once.”

“And take advantage of your weakened state? I can't say it didn't.” His green eyes glow behind his frames. “But you wallow at a level I would never sink to.”

“You wouldn't have had to. I would have begged you, Spears.” Their eyes meet. He draws in a painful breath. “At any rate, I don't believe perishing would have bothered me all too much.”

CRASH.

“ **For a creature as old as you, clearly you know nothing, _boy_! Death isn't a thing you can ever stop regretting**!”

He's trembling all over. His death scythe is blade deep in the drywall. William breathes deeply, wishing his heart to stop its frantic pounding. He collects himself, hurt that the demon managed to get a rise out of him.

Sebastian softens, genuinely. “I do apologize. That was quite insensitive of me.” He touches his hand to his lapel out of habit, slender fingers grazing the spot where the silver pin normally rests.

“You needn't spare pleasantries on me, vermin. You'll be returned to your owner in two days time.”

Sebastian finds himself lifted into the air and deposited delicately on the bed.

“Try to enjoy your time off.”

The door locks as it closes, and Sebastian is left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to point it out that it took Sebby six chapters to get real clothing. Like, he's been naked this entire time. Funfacts with D4tD ;)
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!


	7. Booze, Sex, and Nicotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the all of the warning tags for this chapter. You've been warned.
> 
> Matches up with chapter 65 of Kuroshitsuji starting at page 28.

A crust of salt crystals had formed at his tear ducts. Sea salt. At the corners of his mouth and a light coating over the rest of his skin. It gave him a mild burn, but he did not mind it all too much.

There were seagulls in the distance.

The pink sunshine of dawn worked its way through the fingers shielding his mismatched eyes. It was warm. Nice.

It was nice.

He could hear Sebastian's ragged breathing. Hyperventilating. Ciel didn't know demons could hyperventilate.

His hands slid off his face, and there was his protector. Standing over him, victorious. Covered in gore but undoubtedly still alive. Both of them were alive. Ciel didn't know why that seemed surprising.

Sebastian was shredded. His clothing was pulled over numerous bite marks and claw marks, as well as the giant rent Undertaker gouged into him. Not that the layers of material did anything to hide them. Ciel didn't know it was possible for anything to bleed like that.

Ciel had his own injuries. He had scrapes on his eternally immaculate skin, and bruises blossoming where he'd known himself to be only pale. Expect three years ago. But this was different; he was safe now. This pain was not that bad.

These wounds went only skin deep.

But the both of them were always this way, come to think of it. Half-healed. Half-broken. From the moment they met.

Ciel swallowed dry. “Is it … over?” he asked.

_Of course, my lord._

The strength the demon borrowed from the contract fled his body as the previous order was satisfied.

Sebastian fell forward, his kneecaps smashing into the wooden planks. An arm swung around to clutch his own waist, keeping his cinematic record in. By all logic, he should be dead.

“Sebastian!”

_Young master, your concern is endearing._

The demon gritted his teeth, fangs biting into gums. Claws grew out under his stained gloves, and he dug the points on his free hand into his thigh. Those parasitic creatures left him too drained to mend himself. Too dry to think straight or function.

The young master's tone prompted an explanation. A half truth would have to suffice.

“A death scythe blow is quite tough even on someone like me.” His eyes squeezed shut, straining to hold on to some form of control. The effort made perspiration run down his face.

“Undertaker … how does he fit into any of this? What is he trying to achieve?”

Thank the devil for his master's tunnel-vision obliviousness.

“I cannot comprehend, but…” Sebastian's hand moved from his leg to the floor. He dragged his nails into the wood, gripping on to it for dear life. There. Breathe. “… as long as you have those funeral lockets … I'm sure one day we'll meet again.”

He steadied himself. “He did not seem to want to cause you any harm, but I'd rather not run into him again.”

“I haven't ever seen you like this before.”

_I never wanted anyone to see me in this manner. It is the fundamental reason our contract exists._

“I am deeply sorry for my unseemly state,” he gasped out. “I have failed as the Phantomhive family butler.”

“You have yet to fail me, Sebastian. Quit acting like you have.”

_Young master, if only you knew._

A milky white hand placed itself on the butler's leg. Compassionately. Tenderly.

White hot fire from the contract flooded through him as a warning. To suppress the urges. To stay in control.

“ _Agh—_ ,” Sebastian threw himself to the other side of the boat, away from Ciel's touch. He was panting. Crimson eyes dilated and flashing at the earl. Savage. Bestial.

“It's that bad then.” Ciel sat back in on his heels, not a hint of fear gracing his face.

The demon grimaced.

Ciel sighed as he looked out over the water. “I think I can make out a rescue ship. Will you be able to hold yourself together at least until we make it to port?”

“Master, I—”

“One word. Yes, no, or don't you dare bother answering.”

An aspirated breath. Then nothing.

“Sebastian … I can't have the Phantomhive family butler staying like this. Take a good rest once we get back to the Manor.” Ciel paused, preparing himself.

“But apparently even your self-restraint must have its limits. Therefore, I forbid you from taking any soul from the rescue ship—that's an order.”

Sebastian forced his throat to swallow the extra saliva in his mouth.

“Y-yes, my lord.”

A wash of blessed fortitude flooded his mind. Enough to take the edge off the craving. Enough to not rip open a sailor and swallow him down whole.

Sebastian met his gaze with wordless gratitude.

“You did well today.” No pity was held in the earl's words. There was nothing to be gained from empty praise. That was the understanding they had.

“Young master … please stop. For you to say such a thing … I don't wish to see a storm after all this."

 

_And storm it will._

 

* * *

 

The man was in his mid-thirties. Dust brown hair. Freckles. Slightly yellowed teeth, but not enough to be offensive. He wore a shirt and pants, both stained and otherwise plain. He had no scars, markings, or piercings. He had no personal effects. There was nothing remarkable about this human, except that he was out alone on the rescue ship, that would prompt him to be targeted.

The man stiffened. “You there, are you following me?”

The well-dressed stranger moved out of the shadows. The moonlight on the main deck fell on his stoic expression, his captivating features. A light sheen of sweat wet his brow.

“That depends, sir. Would you want me to be?”

“N-no it's just … I don't have smokes or nothing if that's what you're after.”

The stranger moved closer, slowly. Hesitating between each step.

“I-I j-just wanted to get s-some air.” The man's brain practically yelled at him to run. Why? That simply wasn't rational behavior.

“Not to worry. Smoking is not my vice.”

The man's feet were filled with lead. Leave. Leave now.

“T-that's good, I suppose. I quit after my sister … she kicked it herself a couple of years back.”

Are you insane? Don't talk to him. Just go!

“My condolences.”

“T-thanks. She was real special to me.”

“May I ask you a question, good sir?”

He couldn't refuse even if he wanted to.

“Are you a criminal?”

“N-no. That's a bit … uh … forward, don't ya think?

“Ah yes. However, it is quite a pity that you're not. At least then I could have provided some justification for my actions.”

The gap between them closed. The stranger cupped the man's face in his gloved hand, his ability to abstain any longer completely lost.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I am touching your skin,” The contact made his breathing shallow and desperate. He traced a tear off the man's face.

“Yeah, I noticed that much! Could you stop! P-please … I fancy women, not—”

“Shhh. This not a proposition.”

The man's eyes glazed over, an instinctual fear gripping his heart. “Then what is this?”

The beautiful stranger regarded the quivering man with sincerity.

“It's trial for me. A test, if you will. And a rather cruel one, at that.”

With that, the man was pinned against the railing, his back arched over metal bar. His feet lifted off the deck as the stranger, even in his weakened state, managed to suspend him over the ocean's depth.

“N-no no no NO! Please NO! I'm BEGGING you PLEASE don't! Not back in the water! Not with those  _things_  out there! You can't!”

The stranger's fine face relaxed as his self-denial melted away, allowing his body to do what it required. 

“Which is stronger, my loyalty to my master …”

“NO PLEASE WAIT STOP!”

A white glove was peeled off. There was an occult symbol etched into the stranger's hand, and the skin surrounding the insignia was raised and tortured.

“OH PLEASE GOD HELP ME HAVE MERCY PLEASE!”

“… or this.”

Sebastian pressed his lips softly to the man's mouth. Immediately, both of predator and prey convulsed in agony.


	8. The Fall of Man

The soul hidden in his pocket watch was making him salivate. It didn't help that he had tasted the man's soul before—the warmth of the man's blood had been intoxicating and invigorating. It was still poor swill compared to a contracted soul, but Sebastian wanted it in his body badly. He needed it.

The man was dead before he hit the water. Sebastian made sure of that. Both human and demon plunged into the dark Atlantic from the ship's deck in the most lethal embrace. And the man's blood—his rich sweet red blood—blossomed out from him.

The blood flowed over Sebastian's tongue. It melted into him, blocking out the sting of the saltwater over his injuries with a heavenly bliss. His head cleared. That moment of relief; it was the greatest feeling.

He was a servant to his master, not his pain. The demon wouldn't allow himself to be controlled by something so primitive and human.

He shouldn't have been alive to make it on to the rescue ship from the life boat. He shouldn't have lived through so many bizarre dolls sucking away his life force. He hadn't been able to heal himself at all. While he wasn't yet ready to accept the thought of his miraculous survival as product of divine intervention, it was difficult to deny that something wasn't fighting to him alive.

Sebastian had let the man's carcass sink down into the sea. He had in fact tried to consume the man's soul in a moment of weakness, however the contract had made sure that did not come to pass. Still, it wouldn't go over well for reapers to review the dead man's cinematic records and discover Sebastian's transgression, and Ciel had forbidden him from taking any soul from the rescue ship. Therefore, the only option Sebastian had was to take the soul with him when he swam back to the ship.

And that was how he got to be in the stage coach across from Ciel on their way back to the Manor. The blood he took allowed him to close off his external injuries, but his image of health failed to fool the Queen's Watchdog. Ciel eyed his hands, which were trembling in his lap, trying to keep from reaching into his vest pocket.

“Quit shaking like an old person. It's unbecoming.”

Sebastian smiled. “Young master, I am an old person.” He found a thread of self-control and smoothed his hands flat on the seat of his trousers.

“Ugh. Shut your mouth. I never want to stay so long in close quarters with you again.”

“I rather enjoyed our time together, sir.”

“I suppose exsanguinating would be a demon's version of fun, eh?”

His watch was calling out to him. Sebastian exhaled. “Fun would not be the word I'd use.”

Ciel snorted. “I'll say.” He looked out the window, the sight of solid land calming him after the past week. “You are going to be okay, aren't you?”

“Master, you wouldn't be worried about me, would you?” The watch was throbbing, beating against his heart.

“As if I've ever cared about you.” He looked back to his butler. “It's not in my best interest for you to be dead while I still have unfinished business. Neither is it any good for me to have you act at anything less than full capacity.”

“At the moment, I do not believe my injuries are mortal, my lord. I will recover completely in due time.”

“That's good to hear.”

Not another word was spoken until they arrived at the Manor. Mey-Rin and Finny greeted them with more enthusiasm than the three weary travelers cared for, prompting Tanaka drag the pair of lunatics off of them.

Ciel decreed that Sebastian and Snake were to take the rest of the day off, and that they return to work tomorrow morning. Under normal circumstances, Sebastian would have found some subtle way to protest being dismissed, however right now he was in dire need of privacy. The blood had all but worn off.

After handing Ciel off to Tanaka, Sebastian staggered his way to the servant's quarters. He would seal the watch in cement and bury it deep under the floor boards, where no one would ever discover what he did. To avoid suspicion, he would need to build a new pocket watch, but tinkering and metal work were not outside the realm of his abilities.

His composer was fading fast. When he put his hand on the door and opened it, he nearly fell to the ground.

Either the smell of three years of compounded cigarette smoke or the fact that the chimney himself was lying half asleep on his bed should have clued him in that he was not in the place he meant to be.

“Jesus Christ you gave me a scare!” Bard yelled as he sat up. He reached for the pack on his nightstand. “It's good to see ya, Sebastian. I suppose this means the young master and the new kid made it back too. That's good … you got us real worked up about you guys, you know.”

He put a much needed cigarette in his mouth, kicking himself once he remembered the butler had banned him from lighting up indoors (he did anyway, but he figured getting away with it when Sebastian wasn't around and doing it right in front of him was kind of different). He left it unlit and fished around on the floor for his pants.

“Um, what are you doin' in my room, though?”

Sebastian decided he would have to get rid of it here. It was too much to walk any further.“Bard. Get out.”

“I thought, you know, with you bullying me around in my kitchen and all, this'd be the one place you wouldn't be pushing me around and stuff,” he huffed as he did up his flies.

“Please leave.”

The blond put up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I'm going. Gotta take a smoke anyhow. Just … just don't touch anything, okay man?” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“And uh hey Sebastian, you don't look too good. Maybe you should, you know, take it easy …”

Red eyes glared at him.

“… if you even know how to do that.” Bard left, still shaking his head.

Sebastian locked the door. A gloved hand snaked into his vest and brushed against the watch. So tempting …

He grabbed on to the soul and threw it away from him to the other side of the room like it was on fire.

He was bound Ciel Phantomhive, the Earl of Phantomhive. For three years he had dedicated himself to the whims of that vexing brat. Cooking, cleaning, killing. Violin lessons. All in the name of nurturing his master to be the greatest meal he's ever had. To desire any other soul was … wrong.

But still.

The young master wanted him to return to his health as expeditiously as possible, and the fastest way to mend his internal injuries would be to consume souls. It would replenish his strength. It would end the pain. And he was putting the boy at greater risk by remaining too weak to fight an opponent like Undertaker.

And endangering his master was against his aesthetic.

He crept over to the time piece, crawling on his hands and knees. He reached out to touch it, the polished silver case. The thin metal links. The beautiful light he knew was contained within.

He gasped as several of his broken ribs shifted against his lungs. He twisted to his side, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It didn't help much.

A glove was taken off so he could trail his fingers through the delicate chain. To think this little thing could make everything better—it was always the smallest of things that made the largest of impacts.

He pressed the button on the side and the hatch sprung open with a satisfying click. The soul rose from the crystal covered face, a gauzy iridescent glow only as big as an adult's fist.

Sebastian brought it to his mouth. It was soft. Luxurious.

He could feel the contract start to protest against him. The pain began as a knot in his stomach, hardly noticeable with all the other damage to his body. But the sensation grew sharp, like his insides were slowly being filled with glass pieces. He gripped his sides as the agony coursed through him.

A voice reverberated in his mind. It was powerful and dominate.

“ _This is it? Your first act of defiance?”_

It wasn't Ciel … he couldn't put his finger on the speaker.

“ _I forbid you from taking any soul from the rescue ship. That's an order … isn't that what your young master told you?”_

She was mocking him.

He snarled and blocked out the voice. His fangs bit into the soul, letting the honeyed flavor flow into him. The taste was as ordinary as the man it came from, but the rush of energy was euphoric.

There was a reason blood was only a tie over, famine food for demons. Souls were the closest thing damned creatures could experience to paradise. They were tiny bundles of pleasure and ecstasy wrapped in human packages.

He could feel his body knitting itself back together from the inside. The empty watch shattered on the ground and the torture of the contract fell away. Sebastian threw his head back in relief.

That was it; that was the first order he had ever betrayed of any contract he had entered.

“ _You bastard.”_

Nothing changed. No repercussions. How laughable. Sebastian lay panting on the floor, coming down from the first meal he'd eaten in almost four years.

Then it happened.

Partially congealed blood spouted from his mouth at a rate that made him start to retch the dead man's fluid. Bites pulled apart his skin as all of the injuries from the Campania that had healed began to unravel. Ribs were crushed into fresh fractures that embedded bone shards into other internal organs. Both shoulders and a hip dislocated with a sick pop. His own blood soaked through his white dress shirt and vest. His ankle jerked as he felt the phantom jaws of a bizarre doll clamp down on him.

Sebastian's breath hitched, knowing what came next. He tried to brace himself, his black claws into digging into his leg in an effort to not make a single sound.

The demon let out a blood curling scream as Undertaker's death scythe impaled him from the back, clean through his chest.

His cinematic record violently shot out of him as he collapsed moaning on his back. His fingers feebly tried to hold some part of him, either film or blood, on the inside. How ever would he explain this to the young master, now?

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Michaelis.”

The man's crisp voice reached him from the hall seconds before the door was reduced to splinters.

“Oh. How convenient,” said the intruder, retracting his weapon.

Sebastian's head drooped to the side to face him, barely breathing. “Sp- spears. Don't—”

The demon's crimson eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my headcanon this is why Sebastian lets Ciel make the plans ... 'cause Demon!Logic leads to stuff like this.


	9. Shuffle, Cut, Deal

“So I ask you this, Grell Sutcliff and Ronald Knox. **What have you done with my butler?** ”

The dining room goes dead silent for a moment. One by one the noises are added back into the space: Finny sniffling softly from the pain the gash on his head is causing him. Emily's hiss from around Snake's wrist. Mey-Rin and Bard releasing their breath in unison to go back to caring for an unconscious Tanaka.

The house phone RINGS.

Grell cracks up laughing at the little earl, whose puffed out chest was rapidly rising and falling in smoldering anger. “Oh, just in time.”

The phone RINGS again.

“You're going to want to get that, you know.” the reaper states with a pointed smile.

“Damn it, Grell! What aren't you telling me?” Ciel small body was shaking, his fists balled up at his sides.

“You should listen to the lady, ya know,” Ronald adds, arms crossed and dead serious.

The phone RINGS a third time.

“Bard, for godsake, answer it already!”

Bard leaves Mey-Rin's side and strides over to the console table pushed against the dining room wall. He pulls the receiver from the cradle, glaring all the while at the two reapers. “Phantomhive Manor,” he says, pausing for a reply, “… no he's entertainin' some company and the moment.”

“Who is it?” Ciel asks, beyond irritated. Grell giggles in response.

The blood runs out of Bard's face. “Master, it's Lady Midford. She says Lady Elizabeth's gone missing.”

Finny and Mey-Rin both gasp. Ronald lowers his head in a small, half nod.

Ciel's heart stops. His gun clatters to the floor. “Lady … Elizabeth.” The name falls from his mouth in a voice that sound foreign to him. “Bard, hang up the line.” He grows quiet, fear sinking down into him. He dry swallows and address the reapers once more. “You took her as well, didn't you?”

“Not us. The department don't like us meddlin' too much with the affairs of the living,” Ronald says.

“ _But you knew_.”

“Elizabeth Midford? Age thirteen, daughter of Alexis Leon and Francis Midford? Yeah. She turned up on the 'to die' list yesterday afternoon, and is scheduled to bite it in three days time.” Ronald kicks his feet on the floor.“Thought you'd want us to let you know.”

“How …” It wasn't possible. It shouldn't be … he had just seen Elizabeth the other day when they had disembarked from the rescue ship.

“Master!” Mey-Rin shouts, as Ciel's sways forward as though he was about to collapse.

Ciel catches himself, a million thoughts still running through his head. “I'm fine. Get Tanaka and Finny out of here.”

“Master, I won't leave you!” Finny cries out as Mey-Rin pulls him up to his feet. Bard has Tanaka's arm pulled over his shoulder.

“Finny, come on,” Baldroy says sternly, sensing even rattled, the earl was familiar enough with the intruders to know if he could safely send his staff away.

Finny did not share the ex-soldier's intuition. “NO! He needs us!” He easily wrestles himself out from the maid's grasp.

“Snake, help her,” Ciel commands.

“But, Smile … says Emil—!”

“GET OUT! All of you OUT!”

The servants shuffle out uneasy and powerless. Bard is the last one out. He turns to Ciel, his voice gruff. “Yell for us and we'll come running.”

Ciel nods. The door closes. It's just him and the two reapers now.

“Tell me everything.”

“Here's the thing, kiddo,” Ronald sighs, flopping into one of the high backed chairs around the dining table. “We don't know much about your girl. It's just a bit of a coincidence we noticed her name coming up at all 'cause we've got her flagged for her relation to you.” He fiddles with the silverware. “As for us being here, turns out we can be fillin' in paperwork for weeks on end and still have no way to prove to the council that Undertaker's the filthy deserter he is. So the three of us, well mostly Grell-sempai if I'm to be good and honest, we thought ourselves a little plan to get us off probation, get our death scythes back, and make sure the traitor won't be creating more overtime for us manufacturin' those biters.”

Taking a cue from Ronald, Grell jumps into the chair next to him. “Ooh yes, it all started when I watched my dear Bassy take a tumble with that filthy whore several months ago. I caught a glimpse of a certain marking on his hand, and it was so attractive I couldn't help but doodle it all over my—”

Ronald drops the spoon he was toying with on to the table to cut off the redhead, “Anyway, it turns out senpai is quite the artist—”

“Ronnie, you're too kind!”

“—and I had one of my birds down in cryptology decipher it. She likes puzzles and what not and thought it was real endearing that I brought her one. Of course we never expected to learn _exactly_ how honest the Phantomhive butler has to be.”

Ciel grits his teeth. “Go on.”

Ronald leans back. “The council's holdin' a hearing tomorrow. With Sebastian's cooperation, all speculation that the Campania was our fault will be put to rest for good.”

“My butler may not be able lie, but you are mistaken if you think he'd ever do anything to help the likes of you.”

“Well, we were kinda hoping … you'd order him to cooperate.”

“I would rather eat my own shit.”

“It's just for the next two days. We'll help you find Elizabeth before she gets axed, and the boss says we're even to help you with your case for Her Majesty in Sebastian's absence, if that would sweeten you over.”

“I wouldn't need your help if you didn't take him from me in the first place!”

“You ungrateful little BRAT!” Grell shrieks, “You should be thanking me! Bassy was quite an awful mess without our help! He was even more red than I'd care for!”

Ronald flips his hair back with a gloved hand. “The way I see it, you help us get square with our jobs, and you get your girl and your demon back. It's the best damn deal you're gonna get.”

The dispatch officer realizes a moment too late that the words that just escaped him are the worst possible thing he could have said to the prideful Earl of Phantomhive. Ciel's jaw sets as three new names are entered into the ledger of people he needs to seek revenge against.

“You're wrong. You **WILL** help me get Lizzy back unharmed, and you **WILL** return my butler to me **RIGHT THIS INSTANT** —and then I will decide **whether or not I choose to SHOW YOU MERCY**. Do you understand?”

“How feisty!”

“Are you serious, mate? We've got you pinned in a corner here! You've got no cards left!

“That's the thing, Ronald. I never was playing _cards_.” He tears the eye patch from his face. The mark of the Faustian contract blazes. “Sebastian, this is an or—”

“WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT!!!” Grell screams. “If you try to summon him again, _he will die_. That contract of yours is punishing him for not being able to come to the first time you called. William darling is with him right now, and he sent us to have you recant your order.”

“What a load of bull crap. There nothing in the provisions of our agreement that would make that remotely true.”

“You're not going to gamble you butler's life on the hunch that we're bluffing, would you?!” Grell asks, appalled.

“It's not a gamble if I know I won't lose.”

“Well then you'll lose!” Ronald exclaims jumping to his feet. “You'll lose everything. Call for your demon then. See if he's any use finding your damsel with his insides hanging half out!” He catches his breath. “You've just got to trust us on this one.”

The gun is back in the earl's hands, aimed at the reaper.

“I don't put any value on trust. If it's a deal you want then you shall have a deal. But I will have my own way to keep you honest.” Ciel throws his head back and speaks to the heavens.

“ **If Elizabeth Midford dies or is harmed in any way, William T. Spears is to be obliterated without hesitation. That's an order, Sebastian**!”

Ciel turns to the horrified dispatch officers, who have gone death pale. “Now shall we discuss the rest of the terms?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was part two of the stand off. Two big plot bombs just got dropped and Ciel's gonna need some throat lozenges after this.


	10. 1 Corinthians 10:13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the all of the warning tags for this chapter. You've been warned.

Comfort is not a thing Sebastian is used to making a priority. Lying in the fetal position on mattress provided by William T. Spears and trying to force himself to ignore his hunger and fall asleep is also something he has little experience with. The gauze dressing under his clothing shifts, being slick and full of fluid. He has too much pride to yell for William to help change out the bandages (Ciel's influence?), but his four failed attempts at escaping the room taught him that he wouldn't even make it to the sink.

He reaches to the pillow under his head and slips the cotton case off of it. Getting blood on clean linen is never preferred, but neither is ruining his only set of clothing. Unfortunately there is not a way to save the back of his shirt.

He loosens his tie and begins to undo his buttons, starting at his collar, one-handed. His shirt and vest fall open. A white glove pinches on to the edge of the gauze and peels away the medical tape adhering to his skin. He stifles a moan.

“Need a hand?”

Sebastian cranes his neck to find the source of the smug, contralto voice. Sure enough, Beast is standing over him, whip at her hip and a filled burlap sack in one hand, dressed in a variation of her usual costume.

Sebastian rips the rest of the bandage off with a short grunt, quickly replacing it with the balled up pillow case. He snarls at the woman, “I fail to see a way you could be of assistance, being merely a _figment of my imagination._ ”

She sets her bag gently on the floor, softly purring. Her warm hand and caresses his face, stroking him from under his ear to hollow of his neck. “Oh Sebastian, you give me no credit.”

“It's rather difficult to when you don't even put in the effort to stay in character, _Beast_.” His eyes narrow. “You never knew me as Sebastian.”

She chuckles, sliding her thumb over his bottom lip, rubbing gentle circles. “Caught me, Mr. Black.” The woman shoves him on to his back. The sudden strain on his stitches makes the demon arch up off the mattress, a hiss cutting through his teeth. Beast pounces on to bed, looping her good leg over his bare chest to straddle him. Her hands capture the demon's and holds them down with much more strength than the real woman would have been able to muster. “Although to say that I'm figment of _your_ imagination … you've got it all wrong.”

“Indeed. If I were to fantasize over a tramp, I would have never chosen one so tragic.”

“Hush up. I know you've got a thing for orphans.” She presses her hips forward, running the raised seam at the junction of her black fishnets against his navel. The tips of porcelain white fangs drop out of Sebastian's gums as he resists the urge to test whether or not he can summon he strength to toss her through the wall.

Her thighs squeeze into his obliques as a warning. “Ah uh. None of that.” Sebastian bucks his pelvis up, trying to knock the woman off of him. A hand still gripping his own wrist slams him back on the bed, pinning him in place. “Have you really not pieced it together yet? Who I am? Why I want you healed? Why I hate it so much when you try to defy your orders?

“I would guess you to be an idolatress hailing from Babylon, given how practiced you are on your knees,” he snarls, masking a grimace from the friction the sheets are applying to his sutures.

She drops her head to lick a circle around his nipple, smirking as his breathing turns ragged. “Cute. But what would that make you beneath me?”

“Unwilling.” He replies, remaining unmoving on the mattress, having decided that denying any reaction to her stimulus is the best course of action in his current state.

“Ha,” she laughs, her hips continuing to grind into him. “You waved your right to give consent the day you agreed to subjugate yourself unconditionally to your master.”

A growl sounds from his throat.“And for what reasons are you invested in our contract?”

“Sweetie, **I am your contract.** ” Her lips press down on his, rough, dominate. Her tongue slides into his mouth, carrying the taste of Sebastian's own demonic energy, sharp and coppery, along with a rich ambrosia that is unmistakably the flavor of the soul belonging to Ciel Phantomhive. Sebastian gives in, his body betraying him as the hunger for his master's soul overtakes his repulsion of the despicable creature on top of him. His tongue rolls over hers, starved. Searching for that glorious energy again until Beast breaks away, satisfied with his submission.

The unbridled fury of a fiend from hell boils over. His hands fly up to reach for her neck as hunger courses through him, but she dismissively knocks them to the side. She removes the pillowcase from his abdomen and digs a manicured nail between a gap in his sutures.

Sebastian groans, spit running down the side of his mouth. A sheen of sweat forms on his normally impassive face as he feels her finger burrowing into him, scratching at his intestines.“What … have you … done to me.”

“Not a thing. The only affliction you have is common to all of your kind and succumbing to your temptation was your own misdoing.” Her lipsticked mouth twitches. “You've hit rock bottom, and in doing so you've forced me to take action by presenting myself to you in a corporal form. Don't you like the body I chose?” She wiggles her finger along his innards as he fights remain motionless. “Either way …”

She throws her head back, transforming into a familiar, young face with two mismatched eyes: one sapphire the other inscribed with the contract seal. Chubby, boyish hands grab onto Sebastian's jaw. “… _you will submit to my will, Sebastian. Have I made myself clear_?” the earl says, his finger slipping out of the the demon's wound while rocking his small hips in a solid thrust right over Sebastian’s groin. The Contract reverts to her form as the animal tamer.

“No, not particularity,” Sebastian manages to breathe out, his hunger driving him half insane. His body is aching for a soul; any soul would do.

“While you were unconscious, your master issued several orders which I require you to accept,” Beast explains, replacing the pillowcase over the wound, sopping up the blood like a nurse from hell.

“I would know of any order my master wished of me.”

“The escalating discomfort alerting you of outstanding commands has been temporarily suspended. I want your energy to be devoted exclusively to repairing this body.” Her fingers trail over his the contours of his muscles, feigning tenderness. “It would be in my best interest not to cause you further pain. However, should you remain defiant, my methods of punishing you will grow increasing … creative.”

“Even if I were to believe you, there does not exist a way for you to make me accede to any request from you, be it from my master or not. I've endured far worse than being ridden by a woman with loose lips. ”

“That's why I've brought a present to help motivate you.” She slides off of him, pulling him up to sitting by the separated points of his collar. With a devilish grin, the Contract scoops up her bag from the floor and places it in his lap.

The bag quivers on its own. Then it _meows_.

“Sebastian, say hello to Mr. Fluff.” She dumps the contents of the bag on to the lap of the demon's trousers. The former resident of the bag yawns, lazily rolling on to it back to stretch out its warm belly, paws batting up at the air. “He's a cute little thing, isn't he?”

“What are you …” Sebastian couldn't help but stroke a gloved hand through the animal's soft fur, his eyes locking on to its beautiful slitted pupils. He forces himself to swallow the saliva that was pooling in his mouth.

“Doesn't he smell delicious?”

The adorable thing nuzzles its mane against the demon's stomach—its velvet soft ears—matting its fur with his blood. Sebastian claws at the mattress with his free hand, cravings weathering away at his self-control. “It smells like any of its kind.”

“You mean lush, savory … decadent,” she unnecessarily clears her throat to cue her recitation. “Agree to the following: Sebastian, you are to attend the dispatch society hearing regarding the reaper known as Undertaker. That's an order.”

His whole body trembles. “Remove it from my lap.”

“Acquiesce.”

“Take it away. Please.” His voice no longer conveys disgust, but urgent desperation.

“Submit, demon.”

“Very well. Yes,” he spits out.

“Yes what? It's no good unless you say it correctly.”

He exhales, feeling himself fall apart. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Next: This is an order. You are not to implicate Ronald Knox, Grell Sutcliff, or William Spears more that what is absolutely necessary to recount your conflict aboard the Campania.”

The delicate creature purrs and scratches shallow lines into his skin, begging for his attention. Sebastian throws head back to tear his gaze away from it, his breathing labored. His insides feel so empty they are going to collapse. “Yes … my lord.”

“This is an order: You will not do anything to compromise our contract and you will not be separated from me a moment longer that what is needed. If anyone means to keep us separated between the end of your hearing and your return to me, you are to deal out a befitting punishment.”

A whine escapes him as his longing to sink his teeth into it exponentially builds. Both hands wrap around the animal, his head lowing so his mouth hovers over its petal pink nose. Every muscle in his body is tenser than bowstring, restraining himself from bringing it any closer.“Y-yes my lord.”

“If Elizabeth Midford dies or is harmed in any way, William T. Spears is to be obliterated without hesitation. That's an order, Sebastian.”

“ _yes my lord_.” His words leave his lips with hardly a sound, but the air is enough to rustle the whiskers on the animal's face.

Beast pats the sweaty mess of black hair on top of his head, relishing the sound of strangled whimpers coming from the man. “Good boy.” She plants a kiss on his clammy forehead, before turning on her heels. "I'll leave you two to it then."

"W-wait … please I cannot … you s-said you … you would take it away." he croaks out.

"Lesson learned, Sebastian. If your will to obey your master yields to your temptation, I will exercise your depravity as an instrument against you. And believe me when I say this is only the beginning of what I can do to you." She vanishes into thin air.

Sebastian closes his eyes. Unable to deny himself any longer, he tears the fragile soul right from the warm body of the kitten.

* * *

"I am well aware of the risk to myself. However, on occasion there are times at which loyalty to the dispatch must come second to other more important things. Know your place and try not to get your own self killed." William hangs up the phone on Ronald before the reaper has the opportunity to dissuade him from what he has set his mind on. He undoes the locks from the spare room of his apartment, the one his team had renovated to serve as a holding cell fit for a demon. He opens the door and his eyes go wide behind the frames of his glasses in horror when he sees the room. 

Never a religious man in life, a prayer falls unintentionally from his lips: half for him and half for the demon on the floor.

 

_"God have mercy."_

 


	11. Here Comes a Candle

“Orange! Lemon! Please monsieur, all must be gone by end of the day! Orange, lemon! For one to eat on the return home!” hawked the fruit monger on the dock.

The accented voice of the thirty-something-year-old was was lost in the noises of crowd that bustled past her, glad to be finally be back on solid, English soil after their disaster at sea. A cabin boy and a few other sea hands waded through the fray in the opposite direction, fighting to board their own ships.

The Midfords moved through the crowd, unperturbed by the chaos. Elizabeth followed behind her brother, her mind elsewhere.

She hadn't seen Ciel since he and his butler were dredged out from Atlantic, huddled and covered in grime in their battered life raft. The pair and their footman had been the first to disembark the rescue ship and were most certainly already on their way home.

Her nose caught an orange's sweet, invigorating scent and she suddenly became cognizant of her own body. The fruit seller was presenting to her the unblemished citrus, extending it out to her with both hands.

“Mademoiselle, they are much beautiful and have good smell, do they not? You want to have?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to politely refuse, but before she could manage a single utterance, the woman deposited the orange into her unexpecting hands.

It was cool, and fragrant, and … cute.

“It is said they bring many good things—hope to the living, health to the sick, and life to the ones we think to have lost. Two pence: that is all.”

Hope. That's what she needed. Hope that Ciel would see past the side of herself that she wished he never had to know about. Elizabeth reached into her purse to pay for the item.

“Elizabeth, come along,” her mother's stern voice commanded.

“A sixpence, _si possible_. I give you back four.”

“Elizabeth Midford!”

Elizabeth let the bronze coins fall back into the bottom of her bag in favor of a silver one. She fished it out and payed the woman, who held the coin to the inside of her wrist for a moment, before smiling hospitably.

“Merci mademoiselle. May the rest of your day be well,” she said, pressing the change into Elizabeth's palm.

........

Elizabeth continued to ponder her predicament concerning her fiance up until she and her family had arrived home. She was prepared to retire for the night, when footsteps alerted her to the presence of an intruder.

The only light in her chamber filtered in from a window on the opposite extreme of the room, but she knew her way around from memory alone. Two steps took her to the rapier mounted on the wall of her bedroom, and it was in her hands ready to fend off an attack in a matter of seconds.

Click.

A cool ring pressed against the back of her neck.

“Quite the wrong thing to bring to this fight, girlie,” said the man behind her. “Drop it, or or I'll leave you arranged on the carpet for that pretty bitch with the jiggle bells to find.”

One attacker? She was a Midford, how dare they underestimate her.

Elizabeth ducked to the side of the gun, her free hand snatching her attacker's wrist and digging a thumb nail deep into a nerve. The man snarled a torrent of profanities as he was disarmed.

She spun to face him, wrenching his wrist around while slashing the tip of her blade down to strike his shoulder in one fluid, practiced motion.

Her forearm was caught in a large, calloused palm before she could even pierce his flesh.

Elizabeth's technique was impeccable, but it still didn't change the fact that her attacker towered over her by a good eight inches and out weighed her by at least sixty pounds.

He pushed her away, forcing her to keep staggering backwards. He didn't relent, not even when her spine rammed into the wall. Her free hand was pinned down, and the back of her other one was slammed against wall, hard. Once. Twice. A cry escaped Elizabeth as her grip gave out and her sword clattered to the floor.

He pulled her from the wall, flinging her down on her stomach easily, like a rag doll. His knee drilled into her back to hold her in place. Elizabeth tried to push herself back up, but her jaw was instantly shoved back into the carpet. Blood flowed into her mouth from her bitten lip as a rag slipped over her head and fastened into a gag.

“Don't you dare scream through that. You got a brother sleeping in the room we passed, don't you? You want us to show you how we punish bad girlies who don't cooperate?”

A second intruder started shouting from the corner. “Monsieur, please! You have promise to bring her no harm! Please!” That voice. Elizabeth knew that voice.

“Love, did I give you permission to talk?” the man sneered at the second intruder. “Silence her,” he commanded, and the fruit monger's continuing pleas were instantly garbled.

“You have nothing to fear, my pet,” he whispered to Elizabeth as he slipped a black hood over her eyes. “You're worth your weight in silver alive and unharmed.”

A pungent scent entered her nostrils and she quickly lost conscious.

* * *

Ciel stands in he middle of Elizabeth's disarrayed room. The door swings on its hinges because it had been locked from the inside and had to be forced open. There is a busted window on the far side of the room. A splotch of dried blood on the carpet. A sword on the floor. _Lizzy._

Edward had come by earlier to explain to him everything that his family knew about the attack, which wasn't much. He had then left to join the rest of his family and their servants, who were on search party combing the city for his missing sister.

The sound of the one of the reapers fiddling with his phone aggravates Ciel. It's bad enough that the Scotland Yard had gotten word of Elizabeth's abduction and he would have to deal with Lord Randall later today. His patience can only bear so much incompetence.

Without meaning to, his mind drifts into thinking of what he'd do if Sebastian was with him. Not that the demon would have made much of a different difference, anyway. There are virtually no leads, and with Undertaker gone and Lau giving him the cold shoulder, none of his connections to the criminal underworld remain.

“Will you get off that damn thing already?” Ciel complains. Ronald looks up from the phone in his hand.

“I'm just trying to make myself useful, that's all. Staying in constant communication with the boss to make sure Bassy didn't kill him yet. That's what you'd want, isn't it?”

“Sounds more like plotting to me,” Ciel says with a huff. “Don't presume to know what I want, reaper.”

“Oh but we do know,” Grell pipes in. “After all, there is a reason why you're here instead of working the case for the queen. Isn't Her Majesty is supposed to be your first priority, darling?”

“Eh, senpai, the boss is calling me back. I'll catch you up later,” Ronald says as he ducked out of the room.

“I didn't give you permission to leave, you … ugh he's gone.” Ciel sighs. He'll have Sebastian skin both reapers alive once he returns.

“Dear, you have that lost face to yourself right now,” Grell coos. “Are you forgetting you still have one acquaintance involved with the not so nice dealing of London?”

“Who exactly do you mean … oh no, NO! I'm not! I refuse!”

“I've been looking forward to wearing one of the loveliest dresses I've acquired to the ball he's hosting tonight. I haven't received an invitation like yourself, but I've been meaning to crash that party anyhow.”

“I'm not going to any ball hosted by _that_ man.”

Grell shrugged. “Suit yourself then, Earl. I supposes your fiance will be just fine with you being so proactive about finding her. Doing everything in your power to—“

“Fine. We'll go. That means there are preparations that need to be made. Get to them. I want to be ready to leave at quarter to six for the Druitt Estate.”

Ciel strides out of the room, passing by Elizabeth's vanity as he leaves. On it is an orange, and beneath it is a handwritten note of only two words: _For Ciel._

 

_Elizabeth, I swear … I will find you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Click [here](https://goo.gl/F1lL5y) to read a deleted scene.


	12. Company Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind ALL of the warning tags for triggers ... you have been warned.

The demon had yet to fall asleep. A monitor playing a live video feed of the room was on the counter of the kitchenette of William's small apartment. Every so often William glanced up from the mountains of manila files and paperwork at his makeshift office space on the table to insure that Sebastian had not escaped, but currently the loathsome creature occupied with removing the gauze dressing from its torso.

It was a taxing job, but somebody had to cover for Grell and Ronald now that he had tasked the pair with getting all three of them off the hook from the department's internal investigation. The worst suspicion for the missing souls taken during the Campania incident and during the recent hash of murders at the dock and down in the East End fell on Grell as a result of the Jack the Ripper debacle. As Sutcliff's superior, William was included in the scrutiny for allegedly everything from negligence up to stealing the hundreds of souls himself for some unfathomable reason.

Why Ronald Knox decided to be included in their plot was lost on him. Perhaps he considered tethering himself to his boss and that loose canon of a reaper in the upcoming witch trial as an act of loyalty (oh the follies of blind devotion). Good thing Slingby and Humphries had enough common sense not to get involved, those two had enough to worry about.

As for Ronald, at least the reckless subordinate had proven himself useful lately. Unfortunately, he was currently overcompensating for all the times he had skimped on field reports by sending his supervisor a barrage of messages detailing their progress with the Phantomhive.

William's cell lit up for the eighth time that hour, vibrating violently on a trivet. He sighed; calling him back would afford him thirty minutes or so of respite. Begrudgingly, he dialed the number and waited for the reaper on the other end to pick up.

As was his practice, he did not waste time on salutations and began speaking as soon as the ringing stopped.“What is it that you need, Mr. Knox?” he snipped.

“Ey, boss, just checking to see that you're not dead, that's all.”

William tried to keep his building irritation in check. After all, professionalism was paramount. “I appreciate your concern. However, do refrain from phoning me unnecessarily. It has an effect similar to 'crying wolf', as it reduces the attention I may afford your more significant calls.” 

“Ahh, sorry boss. You know me and Grell just care for you too much.” Ronald paused, as if he were expecting William to laugh, but William did nothing of the sort. “So we're over at the Midford's place at the moment, and it seems there happened to be right tussle last night. Good thing the kiddo didn't order your head on a plate for so much as a scratch on the bird 'till afterward, right?”

William hoped the aggravated sigh he unintentionally let out wasn't audible over the phone. “Yes, Ronald. That would be correct.”

His attention shot over the monitor, to see the demon now sitting on the edge of the mattress, seemingly distressed. Honestly, couldn't the fiend simply come to terms with the fact that escape was impossible in its current condition? This pattern only ended with the vermin sprawled out on the carpet, sutures chewing through its abused flesh. 

William rose from his place at the table, his death scythe materializing into the hand not holding the phone against his ear. His mind was set on giving the stubborn creature a lecture on not looking the gift horse of forced vacation in the mouth. Even though he meant to double cross the demon, some things were still unforgivable. 

“I'm saying you need to watch yourself,” Ronald continued. “All us in collections would be real broken up if something were to happen to you, and you know soon enough Little Miss Phantomhive is bound to get a paper cut or something. And with Bassy's orders you're basically a dead man walking … twice over if the department finds out about—”

"I am well aware of the risk to myself. However, on occasion there times at which loyalty to the dispatch must come second to other more important things. Know your place and try not to get your own self killed."

William hung up the phone on before Ronald could respond. He was already at the door of to room the demon was sequestered in. He slipped the cell into the pocket of his trousers, then swiftly undid the locks and opened the door.

"God have mercy.”

......

The demon lies on the floor of the bedroom, shirt and waistcoat open to reveal a half-healed torso, necktie hanging off from it like a noose. Its gloves have been discarded in favor of clawing its sharp black nails over its throat, chest, and stomach. The gashes it makes are deep, severe enough to kill a man (were it a man) and possibly even disable a reaper (were it a reaper). But it fails to die and continues to harm itself like a brutish animal.

It rocks back and forth on its rear like a tortured specimen one would view at a house for the mentally ill, or in a pen at the zoo, as it carves rents in multiples of four. The wounds hastily seal themselves only seconds after blood would slip out from them, splattering on to the carpet.

The most disturbing aspect of the entire spectacle is that it doesn't scream or cry out from the pain; the only noises it makes are grunts from the effort required to cut deeper into itself.

It takes William a moment to process that the thing in front him is Sebastian, the demon that had bested reapers in combat with no other weapons than the clothes on its back and a few pieces of silverware. That this creature at one time had been the being that he had despised, as well as perhaps even reluctantly respected as an intelligent and capable enemy. There is nothing left of that person.

William digs the end of his death scythe into the ground to keep himself from collapsing. The smell of the iron-rich air and the familiarity of the act that he's witnessing brings up things he had long buried into the recesses of his mind. Everything about this makes him want to vomit.

“Sebastian,” William hears himself say, the name itself no seeming to fit the addressee.

The demon doesn't respond, too lost in trying to rip itself—himself—to shreds.

“Sebastian, stop doing that!”

He doesn't. A noise escapes him, best described as a whimper. All of the sudden, his arms are pulled away from his body, strong hands preventing himself from hurting himself any more.

Sebastian jerks away, try to break free of William's grasp. His eyes are savage and glowing brightly. William holds him fast, knocking him on to his side and pinning his wrists together and to the ground.

“Stop. Don't fight me.”

Sebastian meets William's gaze, suddenly aware of his captor's presence, pausing for moment, before redoubling his efforts to get his nails back to work shredding through flesh.

“Stop it! What exactly has gotten into you?”

He looks away, a foreign expression of shame crossing his face. “I … I have to get it out of me.”

The remaining scratches on Sebastian's neck heal over.

“Speak plainly, demon,” William demands, surprised his own frazzled mind is still able to formulate words.

“Th-the the cat! It's inside of me! I put it there but I need to get it out! I didn't mean to eat it—I promise! I swear … please do believe me … I need to get it out,” he chokes out, his bare chest heaving as it presses into the carpet.

“What are you talking about? There's no cat.”

“ _She_ brought it to me. She made me eat it—no, she didn't make me—I ate it. I ate the kitten … I didn't mean to, you must believe me, William.”

William's face darkens. He had thought the demon incapable of lying. “There is no kitten. I would have noticed it and had it removed from my apartment immediately.”

Sebastian stops struggling against William, the signature smirk forming on his face to mask his anxiety. “Is that so?” He breathes deeply, sorting through what is reality and what the contract had fabricated in his mind. “Ah, well then it appears I'm simply losing my mind.”

William frowns, not releasing the other yet. “Explain yourself, demon. I thought it impossible for you to lie.”

“I never lie, Spears. I admit to having something wrong with me. You must consider the severity of my condition if I am willing to disclose such things to you outright.”

“Answer directly then: should I release you, will you attempt to hurt either of us?”

“I will attempt not to hurt either of us.”

William applies more pressure to the Sebastian's wrists, making the lines of the contract standout even more from the lack of blood flow to his already pale hands. “You're prevaricating, and my patience in wearing thin.”

“I will not hurt you more than what my master has requested of me.” Sebastian clarifies a tad too merrily, “I have been ordered to obliterate you, should any harm befall Lady Elizabeth.”

“Is that a threat coming from you, demon? That would be rich, seeing a minute ago, you were rather bent on julienning yourself,” William scoffs.

The next thing he knows, William finds himself flat on his back, Sebastian standing over him with the point of the forgotten death scythe resting on the reaper's throat.

“You'd do well not underestimate me in the future, William,” he chides, buttoning his shirt and vest with his free hand. William snarls, both hands on the neck of the weapon in a futile attempt to move it away from a critical artery. “There is business I must attend to with my master, more specifically, inquiring why our contract has decided to manifest as a dishonest dead sadist with an unrequited fixation on her adopted brother. Worry not though, I shall return in time for the trial tomorrow.”

William finds himself lifted by his shirt front and deposited gently on to the bed.

“Good day, Mr. Spears,” Sebastian says, checking himself one last time to make sure his appearance is the best that he can manage at the moment. Satisfied, he turns to leave

“Try to enjoy your time off,” he adds over his shoulder, before exiting the room, locking the door behind himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KT, there's your conversation ... it took me two months to get to it, but I never forgot. Thanks! :)


	13. The Smell of the Ground

Rain falls faster than even a demon can outrun, and the storm Sebastian finds himself caught in shows no sign of letting up anytime soon.

His clothing is heavy and plastered against his skin. The grace that normally colors his every movement is forgotten as he draws open the last reserves of his energy.

This body that he has chosen for his young master is not meant to handle this much abuse, and for lack of a better words, it feels like it is breaking down.

The water that pools inside of his shoes makes an undignified squelch with every stride in his broken gait, but it isn't nearly as loud as the woman speaking in his mind.

“What exactly do you think to achieve, Sebastian? You naughty boy. Do you really think your master will appreciate you spoiling his plan? Bitches and butlers should stay put until called upon. Bad, bad doggy.”

The edge of the Phantomhive Estate is in sight. If only he can last that much longer. He shoves the Contract from his conscience with a final effort of indignation.

 

* * *

 

Droplets are pelting the roof of the carriage cab, disrupting the plan being constructed in the mind of the Earl of Phatomhive. The two reapers sit beside and across from him, and still he keeps his eyes dead ahead, damning himself internally for being a move behind.

The only thing keeping Ronald and Grell on his side is a threat on William's life, and Ciel is well aware that his words could very well be empty. Although Ronald had proposed that he and Grell stand in as bodyguards---considering whose place they're going to---there still isn't anything concrete preventing the reaper from turning a blind eye to a stray blade or bullet heading towards him.

Two more things are still weighing down on him. First, the Queen. It will not please her to learn that with Elizabeth gone, he now has a personal stake in the False Silver Case, which can potentially used against him. Or worse, Elizabeth's disappearance is entirely unrelated to the recent counterfeiting and abductions, and he is actively shirking his duty as the Watchdog. Two members of his staff are out on an assignment that may prove fruitful if he can get Lau’s cooperation, but that’s all he can manage with Sebastian still gone.

The other vulture gnawing at his mind regards Lady Elizabeth. If there’s one thing Ciel is certain about, it’s that both Sebastian and Elizabeth are too stubborn to be dead. However, his concern is the state his fiancee will be in when she is found.

There are many ways to ruin a person when they are alone and at the mercy of others.

 

* * *

 

William is lying on the mattress, trying his best to keep any reminder of the demon from affecting him too much. It seems impossible, as the stench of the sticky, half-dried blood has soaked into the floor, bloating the fibers of carpet. Even the bed sheet against William’s skin seems to contain skin particles Sebastian shed during his imprisonment. Repulsive.

There isn’t a specific quality to demons that he despises. It’s everything; the entirety of their existence: their predatory nature, their need to corrupt everything good and pure around them, their nigh invulnerability and the fact that they’re so damn cocky about it…

And reapers practically have a natural hatred against demons hardwired into them. It isn’t like he harbored prejudice against demons (at least no more than an ordinary, God-fearing man would) before waking up at the Academy. A new set of glasses, a new set of morals: it's pretty much a package deal.

It is difficult to differentiate between the wills of the Dispatch and his own. These past few decades, he’s let his work consume him, dominating his life and his identity. Everything is easier when it’s the higher ups making the decisions, his only job being to execute them. When one is not responsible for their actions. how can they be blamed?

The Campania incident, though, that fuck up falls on him. Three hundred plus outstanding souls is too large for the Dispatch Department to let him off with a slap on the wrist.

What happens to reapers fired from the Dispatch is something no one speaks of. Ever.

The battery to William’s cell phone is dead. William blames Ronald, who had been incessantly phoning earlier that day.

Now all he can do is wait. The room is outfitted in ways both occult and technological to be inescapable by demons, and as a result, it is inescapable by reapers as well. Eventually he will be freed; the only questions being when and by whom.

He closes his eyes are tries to rest, knowing he’ll need it, considering the hearing is tomorrow. His mind wanders, unaccustomed to being idle, and he finds himself listening to all the ambient sounds around him, trying to isolate and distinguish each individual component.

He can hear soft rain hitting the windows and the vinyl siding of his apartment, the sound of the water flowing from the gutter and into the downspout. The wooden wind chimes that had been gifted by his mentor upon his promotion at the Dispatch rattle like bones from their place hanging from the front porch. A shutter creaks because he hasn’t found time to repair it yet, droplets arpeggiating a broken chord on its face.

It’s peculiar, the weather in the reaper realm is always the same as the weather in London. There are many theories as to why this phenomenon occurs, although none have been proven.

It will storm soon in London; William is sure of it. But for now, the gentleness of an early April shower is … nice.

 _It washes everything away_ , he thinks, before finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breather chapter, try not to hate me xD


	14. Pray

She was beautiful once. She was young, free -- a being that reveled in letting the air catch at her face as she rushed through the forest at the break of dawn. She was shy sometimes. Loud noises frightened her. Rushing water calmed her. The smell of warm musk made her think of her mother…

Sebastian lets the doe's carcass flop to the ground, irritated and disgusted. The beast had died for nearly nothing; it didn't even take the edge off his lusty ache.

The contract mark throbs brightly on the hand still holding William's scythe, leading him away from the Phantomhive Manor.

The rain takes care of the blood, both the doe's and his own. It had been a long while since he last felt the slowness of time, pain that lingers…

“You caved,” whispers the Contract in his ear. “What were you even trying to accomplish there? Trying to take the edge off like some god damn junkie? Why bother, what with you refusing to let yourself heal?”

Sebastian snarls at her.

“Sweetie, come on. It's all in your head. Really, I want what's best for us.”

She shakes her head in disappointment, making her dark curls bounce slightly. “I'm sorry for you. No really, I am,” she says solemnly. “You used to be so great, and now…”

“It was--” he starts, the words staying lodged in his throat.

She kneels and reaches to cup his face in a slender, fishnet covered hand, patting him gently on the cheek.

“That's your real curse, Sebastian. The only one you can lie to is ... well, yourself.”

“I need t— … I ca— … I am not yet satiated.”

"Come on now. We've got a party to crash."

* * *

“You're late,” William says with all the malice he can muster when the door to the locked bedroom swings open.

“It was five minutes, piss off,” comes the muttered reply as the burly reaper enters, scythe slung over one shoulder and flipping a ring of keys around the finger of his free hand.

“What was that, Mr. Slingby?”

“Nothing.” The keys are silenced in the palm of Eric's hand. "…boss."

William stands. “I suggest in the future you better mind yourself.”

“As if you of all people get to tell me that.” He looks up at the bloodstained walls, then to the dying blood on the carpet and bed sheets. “Is it policy to put resources into building a reaper-proof room, or have you just got shit taste when it comes to interior decorating?”

“Perhaps you do not understand the full scope of our current circumstances. I am prepared to put an end to this investigation and tomorrow's hearing by any means necessary.”

“Whatever plan you and the others got cooked up, just to let you know, me and Al, we want no part of.”

“Mr. Slingby, you're aware that it won't be long before even you are suspected of the discrepancy.”

“Impossible! I was on a solo assignment the night the ship sunk. That's in the books and accounted for!”

“And yet, the books alone are not indisputable with the possibility of personnel error, or…” William held the other reaper under his gaze, “…tampering.”

“Damn Spears, you got me confused with a demon? I haven't got a reason to be colleting souls, you know.”

William doesn't respond.

Eric swallows. “Geez, you're so paranoid. Can't you just trust me?”

A pause.

“Hand over your death scythe.”

“What?!”

“You wish not to be involved and I am in need of a weapon.”

Eric scoffs. William doesn't give an inch.

“Your scythe, Slingby.”

“This is ridiculous,” Eric says finally, shrugging the scythe off his shoulder.

William takes it the moment it's surrendered, the large saw shape feeling awkward in his hands. He tries to adjust to it as he strides out.

“You even got a plan?” Eric's asks, catching William as he's halfway out the bedroom door.

William huffs under his breath. “It's never changed.”

* * *

That a reaper is at his arm and another is at his back does little to put the Earl Phantomhive's mind at ease in what he perceived as a hostile environment.

He shivers as he hears doorman on the other side of the ballroom's entryway announce his presence.

“Look alive,” Ronald mutters behind him.

Grell gives Ciel a savage grin as the double doors swing open to reveal the Viscount Druitt.

**Author's Note:**

> Be responsible and supply correct licenses and disclaimers with your writing! The one for this work is located [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/profile#Kuroshitsuji).


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